I shall be in spirit a complete stranger to you?  Ah yes,” her voice rang on a deep note of conviction that could not be restrained—­“you think you won’t care.  But you will—­you will.  A time will come when you will feel you would gladly give everything you possess to undo what you are doing to-day.  You will be sick at heart, lonely, disillusioned, suspicious of me and of everybody.  You will see the horrible emptiness of it all, and you will yearn for better things.  But it will be too late then.  What once we fling away never comes again to us.  We shall be too far apart by that time, too hopelessly estranged, ever to be more to each other than what we are at this moment—­master and slave.  Through all our lives we shall never be more than that.”

She ceased to speak, and the fire went out of her eyes.  She drooped in his hold as if all her strength had gone from her.

He turned and put her steadily down into the chair again.  He had heard her out without a sign of emotion, and he betrayed none then.  He did not speak a word.  But his silence said more to her than speech.  It was as the beginning of a silence which was to last between them for as long as they lived.

She sank back exhausted with closed eyes.  The struggle—­that long, fierce battle for Guy’s soul—­was over.  And she had failed.  Her prayers had been in vain.  All her desperate effort had been fruitless, and nothing seemed to matter any more.  She told herself that she would never be able to pray again.  Her faith had died in the mortal combat.  And there was nothing left to pray for.  She was tired to the very soul of her, tired unto death; but she knew she would not die.  For death was rest, and there could be no rest for her until the days of her slavery were accomplished.  The sand of the desert would henceforth be her portion.  The taste of it was in her mouth.  The desolation of it encompassed her spirit.

Two scalding tears forced their way through her closed lids and ran down her white cheeks.  She did not stir to wipe them away.  She hoped he did not see them.  They were the only tears she shed.

CHAPTER II

THE SKELETON TREE

“Ah, Mrs. Burke, and is it yourself that I see again?  Sure, and it’s a very great pleasure!” Kelly, his face crimson with embarrassment and good-will, took the hand Sylvia offered and held it hard.  “A very great pleasure!” he reiterated impressively, before he let it go.

She smiled at him as one smiles at a shy child.  “Thank you, Mr. Kelly,” she said.

“Ah, but you’ll call me Donovan,” he said persuasively, “the same as everyone else!  So you’ve come to Brennerstadt after all!  And is it the diamond ye’re after?”

She shook her head.  They were standing on a balcony that led out of the public smoking-room, an awning over their heads and the open street at their feet.  It was from the street that he had spied her, and the sight of her piteous, white face with its deeply shadowed eyes had gone straight to his impulsive Irish heart.  “No,” she said.  “We are not bothering about the diamond.  I think we shall probably start back to Ritzen to-night.”